


Tales from Dunwall

by rosegaarden



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegaarden/pseuds/rosegaarden
Summary: Collection of ficlets and prompts from my Dishonored sideblog, of-great-interest. Feel free to send me an idea there





	Tales from Dunwall

**Author's Note:**

> amummy asked:  
> High Chaos!Corvo interrogating an overseer against an Outsider shrine

He wonders if he’s watching.

Not the Overseer. With palms split by driftwood pushed between muscle and bone, and pieces of salvaged barbed wire biting hard into his shoulders to keep him upright, the Overseer has little choice but to watch. It isn’t his gaze Corvo concerns himself with, but one blacker, and crueler. One far worse than anything he could do with his bare hands.

The Overseer would disagree.

When he wakes, bound and bleeding over a heretical shrine to a blasphemous god, he screams. Louder when Corvo rises, a dark shape in that horrible mask that could strike fear into any man unfortunate enough to gaze upon it, and he’s only silenced when Corvo’s marked hand wraps around his throat.

“There are Weepers”

Whether it’s the threat of them descending upon them, or the sound of the assassin’s voice -- like two gravestones grinding against each other, doom and death threatening -- the Overseer goes quiet. He’s a dark shape rising out of the water, hungry and predator, and though his eyes are hidden, he can _feel_ them on him, boring deep into his soul.

Or so he thinks.

Because Corvo’s eyes aren’t looking to the Overseer at all. They’re fixed behind him, on the shrine, to where the edges of the world waver and thin. Where the air smells of sea salt and the taste of oil lingers on his tongue. A gaze darker than any shadow, crueler than any blade, stares back, and Corvo doesn’t have to wonder if he’s watching anymore. But he wonders if he approves when the mark on his hand shines and a swarm of rats begin devouring the Overseer’s feet.

He wonders if he knows this is worship.


End file.
